


Cracking a Cold One

by Kestrealbird



Series: DC Verse [3]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Barry needs to get paid more for this tbh, Digger being Digger, Digger has a crush but doesn't know it yet, Gen, Hanging out with your nemesis for kicks, He's also drunk, Humor, Pre-Friendship, kinda? like they're halfway there already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrealbird/pseuds/Kestrealbird
Summary: “Do you want to know why I don’t date, Flasher,” asks Digger, clearly enthused by Barry’s unfortunate participation in this conversation.“No,” says Barry for all the good it won’t do.“I’ll tell you why,” Digger replies grimly.
Relationships: Barry Allen & George "Digger" Harkness
Series: DC Verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1382332
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Cracking a Cold One

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist the joke in the title also whats up I'm still working on this verse! There's not nearly enough fic out there of Comicsverse Barry bonding with his Rogues so I am here to fucking deliver, also Digger's best design would be his current outfit with his old curly ginger hair so that's what he has here

Barry’s not entirely sure what it says about him that he’s not even  _ surprised  _ that the first thing Digger does after breaking out of prison -  _ again, _ for the third time this week and it’s only Tuesday, and he didn’t even have the decency to give it an  _ hour, _ the bastard - is buy himself a 12 pack of shitty beer (in his own words he wanted to “crack a few cold ones” and the joke is so horrible it actually  _ does  _ make Barry laugh a little) from a rundown convenience store and then break into Barry’s apartment and take up every bit of space on his sofa, sprawled out with one foot on the table and the other hooked behind the cushions.

It’s one of the most uncomfortable positions he’s ever seen in his life, which is truly saying something considering he’s friends with Iris West and Dinah “puts my boots up on every available surface” Lance.

“- and then she said to me ‘Digger, I just don’t think it’ll work out between us,’ and she’s right, obviously, but I was standin’ there, mate, I was  _ standing  _ there with my pants around my ankles and my shirt nowhere in sight, pissed off my arse, and she expected me to respond to that? I’d only just met her! Can you imagine saying that to someone after hookin’ up with ‘em fer the night?”

Barry focuses very intently on the blank notepad in front of him, pen clicking repeatedly so he doesn’t give in to the urge to throw Digger out his window.

Digger continues, undaunted by the lack of response. “So anyways I got the hell out of there.”

Yeah, Barry fucking figured as much considering he pulled a half-arsed heist earlier just for some extra kicks. 

“Ooohh,” Digger says gleefully, “you just did the face -” Barry has no idea what he’s going on about, what  _ face  _ \- “the one you make whenever one of us,” and he sounds far too proud of himself for this, “is pushing your patience.”

“Which is,” says Barry, despite his better judgement, “almost always because of you, I imagine.”

“Part of my unending charm,” says Digger, downing another beer in .5 seconds. Barry counted so he knows it’s right. He really wishes he didn’t, but he does, so now he’s burdened with that knowledge forever. Wonderful.

Coincidentally that’s also the amount of time he gets to bask in blissful silence before Digger opens his mouth again. It’s like he exists specifically to annoy absolutely everyone with his presence and  _ knows it. _ If he were a lesser person Barry might even wonder how nobody’s killed him yet.

(Not for lack of trying, mind, but Digger’s sort of like a cockroach that way. You think you’ve finally got him and then you blink and he’s scurrying off to another hole to hide in.)

“Do you want to know why I don’t date, Flasher,” asks Digger, clearly enthused by Barry’s unfortunate participation in this conversation.

“No,” says Barry for all the good it won’t do.

“I’ll tell you why,” Digger replies grimly. 

Maybe if he closes his eyes hard enough he’ll end up astral projecting himself into the stratosphere and fucking  _ die  _ instead of having to listen to Digger’s drunken nonsense. 

It doesn’t work.

“I,” he declares with false severity and in what, Barry presumes, is some attempt at a british accent, “am simply too young for commitment.” Then, as if the question has only just occurred to him, “how old are you anyway?”

Barry exhales through his nose and finally abandons his notepad entirely. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Digger shrugs, throwing his empty can - somewhere behind him. “Nothing. You look too young for dating, is all.”

“Too young for -? I’m in my twenties you fucker! How is that ‘too young for dating’!?” 

“Aha!” Diggers crows in delight, “Marco owes me fifty dollars!”

“You bet on how old I am?”

“Of course, mate,” Digger nods. “‘S hard to tell under the ‘elmet an’ all and Cold is stingy with the details.”

Despite his better judgment Barry has to ask, “how long was this bet going for?”

It takes Digger a few moments to answer; whether that’s because of the booze or his own iffy memory is hard to guess but Barry’s personal guess is the booze in this case. “Couple’a years, maybe. Doesn’t matter anyway. I still say ‘no’.”

“No?” blinks Barry.

“No.” Digger doesn’t elaborate what he means by that, instead using it as a segway - supposedly - into his next comment which is even more unfortunate to listen to. “Do you vibrate when you have sex?”

He very carefully breathes through his nose, looks Digger clear in the eyes, gestures to the bulge in his jacket pocket, and deadpans, “I thought the handcuffs were for you.”

He greatly enjoys the shocked silence that follows, mentally patting himself on the back for successfully shutting up the menace on his sofa, and trudges off to his bedroom. He shut his door with a pointed bang, hoping it will be enough to deter Digger from bothering him further, and sinks down face-first onto his mattress.

Evidently he was too optimistic - Digger stumbles in not two minutes later, lays himself out on the floor with a groan, and blinks blearily up at the ceiling. “Didn’t take you fer a handcuffing kinda guy.”

“I’m not,” Barry replies tiredly. “I’d vibrate straight through them.” Which he has had to do. Multiple times. He’d really rather not think about it.

“So you do vibrate when you fuck.” The grin in Digger’s voice couldn’t be more obvious if you had a neon flashing sign pointing it out to you.

He won’t be getting much sleep either way so Barry figures a bit of honesty should be fine. “I wouldn’t know. Never really done it before.”

“Huh,” says Digger, “who knew.” And then, blissfully, miraculously, he falls dead asleep, snoring like a goddamn train and Barry lets himself feel just the smallest bit of fondness.

That fondness nearly evaporates in the morning when he wakes up to Digger leaning over him, minty breath - how polite of him to brush his teeth first, Barry thinks sarcastically - blowing into his face, and a cold can pressed against his bare back where his shirt had ridden up in the night.

At least he hopes it had ridden up on its own because if he finds out Digger did it he’ll kill him with his bare hands, laws be damned for it.

Digger’s not really doing much, though, just running the cold can up and down Barry’s back in slow motions, as if fascinated by the condensation it leaves behind on his skin. Barry feels an itch somewhere though he can’t quite place what it is, and resists a shudder when the can dips into his tailbone.

“Are you leaving then?” He murmurs, a weird contentment heavy in his bones.

Digger stays silent long enough that Barry ends up turning his head to look up at him through his lashes, a tease ready on his tongue that dies the moment he sees the contemplative look on Digger’s face, thick ginger curls already stuffed under his hat. “Yeah,” he says, an oddly soft note to his voice, “should probably get going before your neighbours notice I’m here.”

It’d be a surprise if they hadn’t, considering all the noise Digger made last night but then Barry supposes that nobody would  _ immediately  _ assume that the loud aussie rambling about his love life is the  _ same  _ aussie that’s constantly throwing boomerangs at shop windows. He wonders what they might say if they saw the look on Digger’s face right now, or if they’d be just as much a loss for words as Barry is.

Before he can think better of it Barry sits up to look Digger in the eyes properly and says, just as softly, “not that it matters much considering you broke in and all but - door’s always open if you want to, I don’t know, crack a few cold ones, was it?”

Yeah, there’s the noise he recognizes most from Digger; the loud hyena-like laughter, wheezing out of his lungs so hard he always ends up coughing afterwards. It suits him better than whatever oddness just overtook him, Barry thinks privately.

Digger’s grin is an infectious parasite of a thing and he claps Barry on the arm, crows, “I’ll hold you to it, mate!” and salutes himself out of the window, leaving behind all the empty beer cans for Barry to clean up for him.

Bastard.

  
  



End file.
